


Grief

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, So much angst, it's a decent ficlet i swear, spoiler alert 2: i suck dick at titles and summaries, spoiler alert: sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing ended up like you expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> so hey! i made a tumblr(separate from my main, people were getting sick of my game grumps/nsp/starbomb spam). sooo, you know, give it a looksies or something, if you're into that kinda stuff? i'll be happy to take prompts or requests on there and such. (hands-on-the-water.tumblr.com) 
> 
> also, i did this because i was told not to (you're welcome TonyStarks_Girl)

Sometimes, you can’t even look at him. Every feature, every tiny smile and every curl of brown hair reminds you of what should’ve been, what your life was supposed to be. Sometimes you flinch away when he touches you, shy away from his kisses, keep your distance from the warmth of his embrace. Sometimes you break down, in the middle of the night, while walking down the streets, when you’re watching TV. Everything’s a reminder. Not a day goes by when the word doesn’t echo in your ear, makes your stomach turn.   
  
_‘Stillborn’._   
  
You know it’s tearing him down, to see you slowly wither away. The days you refuse to eat, the nights you can’t sleep. When you lock yourself in the bathroom and stay there for hours. Just lying on the floor, weeping. Hyperventilating. Images of the tiny, fragile thing in the doctor’s hands. Not breathing. Dead. Cold. You see it every time you close your eyes, in every dream. Sometimes you spend all day in the empty nursery. Crying. Imagining what it would be like, if you got to take your baby home. To have the infant in your arms, cradling him as he sleeps.   
  
Sometimes it makes him angry. Sometimes he demand that you talk to him, that you open up. That you let him hold you. But you hide your face in your hands, block him out. Cannot talk. Won’t talk. Can’t bear it. Sometimes he leaves the house, doesn’t come home for hours. Spends the night at Arin’s house. Can’t look at you. You stay awake the whole night, hidden in the big bed alone. Sometimes you fear he’ll leave you. That he’ll give you up. That it’s too hard.   
  
“You won’t even look at me anymore,” he says from across the table. You haven’t even touched your breakfast. You fear that if you as much as try to put the scrambled eggs in your mouth, you might throw up. When did you last eat? The last few days are just a blur.  
“Dan,” you sigh, not looking up to face him. You want to, you really do, but there’s this tight knot around your chest, and you just stare down at your plate. He says your name, mimicking your voice. He’s irritated. You want to blame him for it, to get angry back. But you’re just tired, just so tired.   
  
“This is wearing me out,” he says the words out loud for the first time since everything went to shit. No more pretending, no more passive aggressiveness. Maybe this is what he needs - to vent. You bite the inside of your cheek, biting back the sudden, desperate wanting to get up, to leave the table, to flee the confrontation.   
“Dan,” you repeat, unsure of how to react to his sudden honesty. You’re so used to dancing around the subject, to wallow in your own pain, not even able to consider your lover’s feelings.   
“No, listen,” his voice is uneven, fighting to stay as calm as possible. “You can’t keep doing this to me,” you dare to take a glimpse at him, see the apparent anger in his expression. His normally warm, chocolate eyes glazed and cold. Hands in fists resting on the table.   
  
“I’m grieving too,” there they were. The words you’d been fearing. They were the truth, and you know you’d been neglecting it. You were a horrible human being. You hated yourself. Maybe you did deserve him leaving you. Maybe it was for the best. Leaning your elbows on the table for support, you pressed your palms to your eyes, refusing the salty water to run down your cheeks. You tried to keep from shaking, choking on a sob that attempted to force it’s way out of your throat.   
“I know,” you whispered, barely audible.   
“Do you?” The faint resentment in his voice stung. “Because it seems to me that the only one allowed to feel pain around here is you,” You exploded. Four months of pain and sorrow exploded in your chest as you abruptly rose from your chair, knocking it over.   
  
“There’s something missing from my body,” your voice was shaking, breaking, uneven. You were loud. Your cheeks were wet, and you willed yourself to look at him. When he opened his mouth to interject, you slammed your hands on the table. “No, Dan, you don’t get it!” your chest ripped at the seams as the words you’ve been keeping in for months finally were said out loud.   
“I carried him in my stomach for nine months,” your hand, your delicate, thin hand rested on your belly, as if reliving the memories. “I felt him kick, I felt him live inside of me,” the anger faded as quickly as it had flared up, and your voice lowered to a whisper. “And now he’s gone. He’s just gone, I never even got to hold him,”  
  
You fall to the floor, hands clasped over your mouth, muffling your hitched breaths. There. You’ve said it. You’ve said the words and there’s no taking them back. All the pain you’ve felt over the last few months hitting you like a wave, rushing over you all at once. Your head hurts, your chest hurts, everything hurts. You wait in silence, scared of what will happen next. Scared he’ll still be angry, scared he’ll resent you even more.   
  
He hurries over to you, embraces you without a word. You let him. You finally let him touch you, and you feel the warmth of his body against yours. He’s murmuring your name, whispering into your ear, stroking your hair. His anger has subsided, has been replaced with something calm, understanding.   
“You need to tell me these things,” his voice tickles your ear, sends shivers down your spine. You didn’t know how much you missed him. He’s been there all along, behind the walls you put up. “You need to let me in, let me heal you,” he corrects himself. “We need to heal each other,”  
  
You share the bed that night. He’s caressing your cheek, not once taking his eyes off you. You can’t see it, but you feel his eyes on you. It’s a step in the right direction, you decide, as you drag your fingers over his cheek, mirroring him, feeling his stubble under your fingertips.   
“I’m so scared you’ll leave me,” you whisper, glad you can’t see his face in the darkness. He shifts, moves in closer, puts his lips on your shoulder.   
“Never,” he mumbles against your skin. You’d almost forgotten how soft his lips are. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, this intimate. He moves again, showering kisses from your shoulder, to you neck, to your cheek. As he cups your face, carefully pulling you to him and presses his lips against yours, you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time.   
  
_Hope._


End file.
